


Petrichor

by ValDeCastille



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, POV Jon, no plot just a cute little drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 09:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValDeCastille/pseuds/ValDeCastille
Summary: When Jon yielded to the inevitable fact that she would not budge in her quest for an answer, he begrudgingly cleared his throat and almost shyly turned to face her. “The earthy scent that rain produces when it touches the ground, petrichor.”





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliciutza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/gifts).



> Hello beautiful people!! 
> 
> Firstly, this is a gift for a gorgeous soul: my dearest Alice! I was chilling at home and suddenly the smell of rain filled my senses when a storm came and, somehow, it reminded me of you. I always thought you were a person who loved rain and turns out you truly are. I love you so much I have no words to explain it but I hope this little drabble is to your liking. <3
> 
> Secondly, major thanks to Iane for helping me beta this! <3
> 
> Thirdly, hope you enjoy!

 

“Don’t you just love the smell of rain?” The stranger next to him said out of the blue, looking to the horizon from the small balcony Jon had chosen for his smoke break. There had been a rainstorm just half an hour ago, but all that remained was a subtle breeze allowing him to indulge in his vice.

The museum was packed for the art auction going on and he was glad to have found this private spot away from everybody. However, he was starting to regret his decision as the woman next to him insisted on having a conversation rather than leaving him to his daily brooding. She had been talking for ten minutes now, not minding that he wasn’t much of a talker nor that he didn’t care at all about what she was saying. When she did finally notice his lack of engagement, she stopped, flushing a bit and mumbling, “Excuse me if I’m annoying you,” only to voice her ideas again as if those words had never left her lips.

Jon was used to people getting fed up with him at his monosyllabic answers and lack of engagement in small talk, but not this girl. This girl looked at him with gleaming lavender eyes expecting a reply every time she spoke even if he hadn’t given her any since she had found him enjoying his fag away from prying eyes. Her eagerness, however, was getting to him, filling him with a sweet fluttery sensation in the pit of his stomach and making his hands sweat. It was a new experience, a little unnerving but pleasing all the same.

Thus, silencing the little voice inside his mind urging him to flee and go back to his comfortable chair, he decided to follow his impulse for once and give in to the girl’s enthusiastic chatting and provide her with an answer.

“Petrichor,” he said, his stomach churning at the sight of her stunned face when she finally turned to look at him. Perhaps she liked to be the only one talking, perhaps she simply didn’t like the sound of his voice. The awful memories he'd always try to keep at bay threatened to flood his mind then, seeing how she didn’t answer. Catelyn Stark’s cold blue eyes and severe face appeared before his eyes and her harsh voice echoed in his ears as if he had only met her yesterday. He shouldn’t have spoken.

“What?” The girl asked after what seemed like years. Jon could now see more than her profile and his heart leapt at the sight before him, so otherworldly to his ordinary northern eyes.

Gulping, he repeated, “Petrichor.” As if that was obvious for everybody to know.

“Petrichor,” she echoed, the word sounding beautiful between her pink full lips and sweet lullaby-like voice. She batted her eyes at him, bewildered, eliciting a rush of adrenaline through his body, so Jon turned to look at the skyline, unable to hold her gaze. She remained staring at him, however, demanding an explanation.

When Jon yielded to the inevitable fact that she would not budge in her quest for an answer, he begrudgingly cleared his throat and almost shyly turned to face her.

“The earthy scent that rain produces when it touches the ground, petrichor.”

Her violet irises shone brightly at this as a disarming smile escaped her, making Jon wonder if he had ever encountered such a mesmerising woman in his life.

“I didn’t know it had a name,” she said excitedly extending one hand letting tiny drops fall on it. “It’s beautiful…” she whispered, bringing it to her eyes, examining the drops, squinting. “Don’t you think?”

“The word or the scent?” He put out his cigarette, squishing its tip on the hard surface of the balcony, suddenly dreading to interrupt her contemplative experience with the coarse smell of tobacco.

She gave him an incredulous look, yet friendly and warm. “Both.” When he stayed quiet, she added, “Or do you disagree?”

He couldn’t contain a chuckle, seeing how adorable she looked with a frown on her forehead and a pout on her lips. “No, I don’t.” Her expectant eyes did not leave him. “The smell is… unquestionably wonderful and soothing; reminds me of my siblings. My father used to take us to the forest to play when we were young. The word… well, it’s deliciously constructed and holds an exotic tone to it.”

The girl tittered, much to Jon’s chagrin, for he didn’t think himself capable of stopping his blushing. It had always been hard for him to express his inner thoughts yet this person made it easy, no judging glances, no harsh tones, no disproving words. So he ventured further. “Do you know what it means?”

She grinned rolling her eyes just a bit in a playful manner. “Well, obviously, I don’t.” Her moonlight hair danced with the wind and her cheeks were flushed with the lightest of rouges because of the decreasing temperature. All Jon wanted was to grab her silky locks and secure them behind her ears, and then embrace her in a tight hug, so his human warmth prevented the cold from disturbing her comely self. Jon wasn’t cold, for this was only a tiny glimpse of the extreme weather he was used to up north, however, her erratic shivering gave away her building suffering.

“Petri comes from _petra,_ meaning stone, and ichor comes from _īchōr,_ which is the fluid that flows through the veins of the gods.”

“A godly stony scent,” she whispered, some kind of realisation dawning on her.

Jon nodded, trying to asses her reaction. She seemed to have flown far away, her mind buzzing with ideas that were solely hers.

“That simply makes it even more beautiful… If one could hold a grasp of the gods’ scent, maybe this would be it.”

Her renewed excitement made his heart pound, but he opted for hiding it with a shrug. “Maybe.”

Her forehead wrinkled as she gave in her thoughts one more time.

Jon, too, took a moment to ruminate on the concept as he'd never paid attention to it despite the knowledge of its significance. After a peaceful silence, he stated with conviction, “It _is_ their scent.”

She seemed doubtful. “But how can-”

“Not of the Seven,” he cut her before she could voice her inquiry. “This is the scent of nature, the scent of the Old Gods.”

She tipped her head to the side and examined him with big twinkling eyes. “I had not considered that, but I think you are right…” Her words were left hanging in the air. “I’ve never seen a heart tree,” she added after a while aiming their conversation to another direction.

Jon was shocked at the revelation. Even if southerners did not follow the Old Faith, there were several heart trees here and there they could encounter despite the fact they only served a decorative purpose. He didn’t have time to voice his surprise when she was speaking again. “You’re northern, aren’t you? You have that particular gruff accent when you speak.”

Jon arched his brows in amusement hiding, once more, his nervousness behind a disinterested demeanour. “I am.”

She nodded, not saying anything else as her eyes darted to the view of the capital full of tall buildings, cars, and people passing by. Jon noted then he had ceased to hear all the noises that constantly bothered him while talking to her. It was as if they had disappeared and just now someone had pressed play on the background daily soundtrack of King’s Landing.

She exhaled heavily as if suddenly remembering the weight of the world on her shoulders and spoke wistfully, “Must be beautiful up there. Forests as big as the eye can see, snow-covered hills, grey never-ending skies, and full of brownish leaves windy days.”

Jon’s brows came down and furrowed in a scowl at her choice of words for it was not often someone described the north as _beautiful_ , not even northern people who were tired of their cars getting stuck in the snow, the dull hills, the sad skies and the cold days. They still loved their land, but immediately travelled to the sunny south full of beaches, green prairies and exotic fruits if given the chance. His train of thought was interrupted when he felt something cold settle over his hand abruptly making him focus on it only to realise— shockingly— it was _her_ hand.

When his eyes found hers, the light pink of her cheeks was now crimson red, but the smile on her face did not flicker, and her hand simply grabbed his with renovated strength.

Jon didn’t know what to think or what to do, dumbfounded by her actions. He wondered who this girl was and why he felt so drawn to her as if his soul already knew hers from time ago. He felt he trusted her already, he felt he cared for her already, he felt… _her_ ; closer to him than anybody had ever been and the thought of it did not make him fret but, on the contrary, made him harbour hope like he never had. On instinct, he turned his hand around intertwining his fingers with hers, reciprocating the gesture. She briefly turned to look at the picture and then looked back at him, a little flustered but beaming and getting closer, so close she could almost press her forehead to his.

The moment was interrupted by a group of people laughing and chatting that —like Jon— had decided to take a smoke break away from the hectic auction. Instantly splitting apart as if busted committing a forbidden act, Jon cleared his throat and busied himself looking for another fag whilst the girl tucked a strand of platinum hair behind her ear and redid her coat belt in a tight knot in an attempt to make herself warmer.

An awkward silence followed while the group continued to immerse in their conversation, not sparing a glance at the two people sharing their space. Jon brought his black lighter to the cigarette between his lips in order to light it, but a hand stopped him from doing so, taking the cigarette and throwing it into the bin a few steps away. He would usually get angry at this, but when he looked up to see the girl’s face all thoughts of annoyance were gone, replaced by the same fluttering he had felt when first daring to mutter a word her way.

A thunder roared just then, chasing the smokers away, leaving Jon and the girl by themselves yet again. Jon glanced at the sky, trying to discern nature’s will. “We should probably go inside, too,” he suggested, convinced another storm was coming, but she stayed still on her spot, the stronger wind messing with her hair and dishevelling the last of her once perfect braid.

She walked to him biting her bottom lip, making Jon gulp and feel a thousand sparks ignite inside him. When she took a halt just inches away from him another thunder roared and heavy rain started pouring, rapidly soaking everything below, including them. Their hair stuck to their faces, their clothes became heavy, and a little trail of black mascara ran down her cheek. But they didn’t move, rather stood where they were, looking at each other as if recognising an old acquaintance that had changed with the years spent apart.

They kept staring, the sound of rain hitting the floor, the window and the balcony their only company; the city noise along with the bustle inside long gone.

She only looked more beautiful now, dripping; her pristine appearance a distant memory which allowed Jon to try and comprehend the situation for he had believed he’d been talking to an ethereal being, extraordinary and out of his reach; perhaps even imagining her.

The drops of water ran across her delicate features in the direction of her lips, sometimes going over them, sometimes stopping, captured by her tongue, inviting Jon to think about how it would feel to help her catch them with his lips.

However, after an everlasting moment, her mouth began contorting into a grin to which Jon could only reply with one of his own, the absurdity of it all striking them like the thunders in the sky. With no need for words, they burst into laughter, boisterous and heartfelt laughter like the ones that make your belly hurt.

They were a pair of lunatics getting soaked on a balcony, giggling and enjoying rain for itself, no reason needed. She mumbled something Jon couldn’t understand so she laughed some more and then raised her voice above the drumming of the rain. “Do you want to be my friend?”

Jon snorted thinking he had not heard words like that since primary school, but he was more than happy she wanted to prolong their encounter. “I don’t even know your name!”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist pulling him inside, finally deciding to get under a roof and away from the rain.

People turned to look at them with questioning eyes, some bothered, some utterly confused, eliciting more laughter from Jon and the yet unknown girl. “Jon,” he added after a moment taking the initiative and extending his hand for her to shake.

Taking his bigger hand in her petite one and squeezing it strongly, she smiled widely, “Dany.”

As he held on to her touch, oddly known and reassuring, Jon was more than certain now that he had never, ever, encountered such a beautiful woman in his entire life until that moment, and it was all thanks to the sweet scent of rain on the ground.

 _Petrichor_ , he thought to himself.

“So you like the north, _Dany_ ?”

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just mix Greek mythology with Westeros and made a mess of it? Yes, I did. Let’s not focus on that.
> 
>  Thanks for stopping by!!! Yours truly, Val.


End file.
